Forgiven & Forgotten
by 1.126.000
Summary: When a painful reminder of the past drives RED's Sniper to violence, the last person he expects to meet is a young Medic from BLU. The doctor is both patient and skilled, but wounds of memory and anger are not as easily healed as burns or broken bones, and there's something else. Something about the doctor himself. Something strange. And time is running out for them both. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The first thing Sniper did that fateful day was take a morning piss and release the pressure that had made his post-orgasmic stupor so luxurious. The world outside was quiet and still. Hard to believe in just a few hours he'd be in the middle of an all-out war, sprinting for cover as the bombs fell and the screams rose up.

"PRIVATE!"

A frenzied pounding on the van door shattered the peace.

"You lazy sack of ass, I know you're in there. Answer me!"

More pounding, this time hard enough that Sniper felt it through the floor. He wandered over to the bathroom mirror, angled his face there and decided to put off shaving for another day. Then he went to the closet, pulled on jeans and an undershirt.

"Open the door this instant OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!"

Sniper had never been one to be especially quick to provoke, so it wasn't until he'd pulled on the familiar comfort of his boots and the door rattled and shook in its frame that he genuinely took offense.

Outside, the Great American Menace paced, his voice moving up and down the length of the van. "UN-AMERICAN! UNCONSTITUTIONAL!" he bellowed, raining blows down upon the door once more.

_Bugger this,_ thought Sniper… He marched to the door, braced himself and waited. And the second there was a break in the assault and the door went still Sniper toed the latch and struck out with a single brilliant kick that sent the assailant sprawling.

"Soldier!" he barked, glaring down at the American. "You _EVER_ abuse my property like that again and it's me boot up your arse!"


	2. Chapter 2

Food, then uniforms, then war. That was the order.

The breakfast buffet was a right mess by the time Sniper arrived, having already been attacked by four members of the nine-man team, all of whom were as half clothed as he was. Well, all except Spy, of course. _He_ lurked by the coffee machine, cigarette in mouth, dressed to the nines.

"Mornin' Spook." The Frenchman nodded but said nothing, and so Sniper went about making some tea. Contrary to the popular opinion of his teammates, tea, not coffee, was Sniper's beverage of choice. Coffee was a job-related requirement, something he was forced to drink out of a necessity to stay alert even as his legs shot with cramps and the muscles in his back burned. But tea… tea was something to drink at leisure at first light, or else after the work of the day was done and there was too much pain and fatigue for much else.

Heavy sat at the head of the table, working on what could only be described as a tower of pancakes, smothered in what surely amounted to an entire pitcher of maple syrup, and topped with half a tub of ice cream. All he needed now was a bucket of cherries.

To Heavy's left sat Scout, a bowl of fruit cocktail in front of him, who watched the Russian with an expression somewhere between disgust and reverent disbelief.

"Dude," he said. "That is freakin' _foul_."

Heavy leaned back and clapped a hand to his belly. "Am needing lots of food to fill big pot," he said, and grinned, but Scout only wrinkled his nose.

Engie chuckled, hunched over a plate of eggs and bacon, and something he'd introduced as 'grits', which Sniper had tried but ultimately didn't care for.

"Do not worry, Scout," said Heavy. "You are leetle tiny baby man. Is making sense that you are eating leetle tiny pieces of fruit." He reached over and poked at some of Scout's fruit.

"Hey, get outta there! You know I need the sugar- _STOP!"_

"Oh, c'mon, boy," said Engie over Heavy's laughter. "It won't kill you."

Scout stood and went to the trash can. "Forget you guys," he said, dumping his bowl. "Hope you fall in a hole."

"Welp, no one could say they don't take care of us," said Engie. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner, all fully catered. Could hardly believe my luck when I signed on. Now I'm spoiled. Dunno what I'll do when I leave."

"Get yourself a girl," said Scout.

"Get yourself a _chef_," retorted Spy.

A fully-suited Pyro strode in then and took one long look around the room. "Mmph mph! Mmph mmph mph mmmph mmph?" he said, which resulted in Engie spraying a mouthful of food.

"Dude!" said Scout. He'd just sat down with a fresh plate, only now it was speckled with bits of the Texan's half-chewed breakfast.

"Sorry," Engie croaked, sounding very much like he was about to cough up a lung. "Pyro… buddy… you can't be saying things like that when people are eating. Damn near choked to death. Shucks..."

"What'd he say?" asked Scout.

"Never mind."

"Tell me!"

Engie made an ugly noise. "He said - and I _cannot_ believe I'm repeating this – he asked if you'd all remembered to jack off this morning."

From behind his mask Pyro let out a muffled, maniacal giggle before taking up the seat directly next to Scout.

"Why does he have to sit next to me? All these free seats and he has to sit next to _me_?!"

"Oh, leave him be, son, he ain't hurtin' no one."

"Freaks me out with that creepy-ass mask."

"Mph! Mmph-mph!" said Pyro, pointing over Engie's shoulder.

"Now what?" said Scout, as he set down a tureen and flopped into his seat.

"I think…" began Engie, craning to look down the hallway. "Yup! Drop your pants, boys. Doc's here."

And sure enough, Medic stalked in.

"Good morning, Doktor!" bellowed Heavy.

Without so much as a glance at his Russian friend and ally, Medic made straight for the coffee machine until he stood toe-to-toe with Sniper who stood in the way.

"_Move_."

"Aww, Doc. Not even a 'please' on the end of that. I'm hurt."

To that Medic said nothing, and it was a very good thing for Sniper that the doctor's glower could not castrate a man. Without another word he moved off and took a seat next to Engie. Spy tried hard not to smile.

Heavy paid no attention but Pyro, who'd been sitting quietly, stared at the doctor. "Mmph mmph-mmph mmph," he mumbled, and Engie almost choked for the second time that morning.

Scout lifted the lid of his tureen and made a face. "Aww, jeez. Freakin' oatmeal's cold." He dug in a spoon and lifted out a gelatinous chunk, and Sniper leaned as far back in his chair as possible.

Then the kid tried to dislodge the stuff without actually having to touch it but succeeded only in sending a piece flying.

"Watch that," barked Sniper.

"The hell is _your_ problem?" Scout's gaze flicked to Pyro and a smirk quickly followed.

Pyro shook his head. "Mph-mph!" he said, waving his gloved hands in protest. "_MPH-MPH_!"

Scout lunged, and more than one chair was overturned in the firebug's enthusiasm to flee.

"Nyet!" said Heavy. "Am trying to eat!"

Scout turned on him. "You want summa dis, lard ass?"

"I _dare_," said Heavy, crossing his arms.

Medic and Spy watched from the sidelines, stoic and untouchable, and a single look from Engie likewise spared him an assault. Sniper was not so lucky.

"Yo, Legs! You want-"

"No. Now piss off."

"Aww c'mon, what's the matter? Eat some!"

"Scout," Sniper said through clenched teeth. "I'm warning you." The kid was right next to him now, holding the vile stuff an inch from his face, the smell of it clawing its way down his throat until it made his stomach turn and he swallowed back the urge to be sick.

"Oh, what? You gonna cry? You gonna-"

Sniper had him by the throat and up against a wall in an instant.

"Yo, what the hell?" Scout said as Engie scrambled to get between them. "It's a joke! It's just a freakin' joke!"

"I said," Sniper growled, with a voice stronger and darker than his own, "_piss_ o_ff_." He let go.

"Maaaan…" Scout began, his lip curling.

"Leave it, son," said Engie, keeping Scout at arm's length as Sniper walked back to his seat. "You pushed him is all. Now you know. Sit down and leave him be."

"Pushed him, my ass," muttered Scout. He stalked back to his seat where he snatched up a napkin and glared at Sniper.

And Sniper glared right back.

An awkward quiet fell. At the head of the table Heavy watched in wary silence, his breakfast all but forgotten while over by the coffee Spy's cigarette was little more than a shriveled black worm between his fingers. Even Medic looked a little put off.

And that's when it happened. That's when Sniper, in his residual anger and irritation, forgot about the scar. Or rather he forgot that he'd been distracted that morning and never got around to putting on the watch which would otherwise hide the scar, and in his forgetfulness he lifted his hand and drew the back of it across his mouth to wipe away the spittle there. That's when Scout saw. And that's when Sniper remembered too late.

Scout did a double-take, but then his gaze was locked and his eyes never left the spot.

There was nothing Sniper could do, even as he watched it happen. Like when he accidently dropped a glass and watched as it fell, knowing what would happen when it hit the floor, knowing that he had to grab for it but for his body being unwilling or unable. He let his hand drop and leaned back in his chair as if all the world was right and nothing at all was wrong. And he braced himself, knowing what was to come.

"Yo, Legs," said Scout. "What's that on your arm?" he asked, only he asked the way a person who already knows the answer does.

"Scar," said Sniper.

Scout smirked. "Oh yeah? Don't look like it to me. Looked like-"

"You gone deaf, boy?" Engie said. "He said it's a scar."

"Let's see it then."

"Boy, I swear to-"

"I just wanna see it!"

"And I just want to eat in peace without you pesterin' the bejeezus outta Slim!"

"But I never seen a scar like that. You get friendly with one of Doc's scalpels or something? Hey, Doc, don't it look like-"

"Spare me your medical suppositions," Medic growled.

"Yeah, but-"

"Scout!" Engie barked. "I'm warnin' you. Quit yer pickin' an' let the man enjoy his tea."

Sniper, however, was beyond being able to enjoy his tea.

Seemingly defeated, Scout slumped back in his chair. A wiser man would've stayed seated, but like many young men his age, wisdom was not one of Scout's strong suits. As soon as he saw his chance, he lunged.

Sniper was on his feet in an instant.

"DAMMIT, BOY," roared Engie.

"Fuck you!" Sniper spat. "Fuck you and fuck off."

"Slim!"

"Yo, really?" Scout came back. "Fuck _me_?"

"Scout!"

"Nah, man. Fuck _him_. Always sulking around like the world owes him something. Tired of his shit. You hear me, Legs?"

But Sniper was already up and halfway out the door.

"Hey, faggot, I'm talkin' to you!"

He'd tried to let it go. Really he had. He'd tried to stem the flood of memory and anger, but then Scout had made the mistake of going after him, and all the old panic returned, and there was nothing left to do but turn and strike.


	3. Chapter 3

That day's battle went about as well as Sniper could've hoped for, anger and irritation fueling multiple headshots. Afterwards when it was all over he deliberately returned late so the changing room and showers were his alone. Dinner, too, he took late, locked in his van so as not to be disturbed. Soldier paid a visit with a mouthful of abuse, but despite his earlier promise of retaliation, Sniper did nothing. Then at some point he heard the crunch of gravel underfoot as someone else came and went. Later he found a note taped to the door of his van, written in Engie's unmistakable scrawl.

_Missed you at dinner_, it said. _See you tomorrow._

He pitched it into the nearest garbage can and turned in for the night, hoping tomorrow would be better.

But it wasn't. And neither was the day after.

The change was subtle at first. Here, a missed meal. There, a sleepless night. He chalked it up to a rough couple days and nothing more until suddenly, and for no discernible reason, his marksmanship began to suffer. Here, a misjudgment of distance. There, a moment's hesitation.

He woke in the mornings never fully rested, the fatigue of the previous day lingering in a dull ache that plagued his body. Every night he collapsed, exhausted. Sleep came stony and shallow, and always dreamless. At mealtimes he ate food without tasting it, and grimaced as it ground its way through his gut. Sometimes he felt so sick he skipped meals altogether. A shadow fell across his face, and stayed there. Weeks passed.

In the end, it was Engie who found him holed up in a derelict watchtower on the outskirts of the base one evening.

"Hey there," he said once he'd climbed to the top, a broad smile on his face, a cold beer in each hand. "Fancy a dr…" His words trailed off as he stopped short at the sight of the many empty bottles littering the floor. "Guess not," he mumbled, stepping forward.

"Wait," said Sniper suddenly. "Floor's fucked. Come around this way."

"Oh," said Engie. "Uh…'ppreciate it." He edged around the perimeter to where Sniper leaned against the window ledge on the wall opposite. "Nice evenin'," he said, gesturing at the horizon.

Sniper gave a nod but said nothing, waiting for the inevitable.

There was a moment's silence while Engie opened one of the beers he'd brought and took a swig. "Say Slim," he said, finally. We're friends, ain't we?"

"That we are, mate," said Sniper, still not looking at him.

"And bein' friends I have to ask: you ever consider taking a break from all this?"

That got Sniper's attention. "What?"

Engie took another swig. "Yeah, I heard Spy talkin' 'bout it. They'll give you time off if you ask. All you gotta do is go see the doc and he'll put in the paperwork. Heck, been considering it myself."

Sniper's eyes narrowed. "What're you gettin' at?" he growled.

"Oh no, I-I wasn't tryin' to-"

"Look, I know I've been slipping, mate. I know. I don't need you to tell me." He leaned back and drained the last of his beer before snatching up the one Engie had brought him. "And I'll _fix_ it," he said, his words steely.

Engie's face fell. He waited a moment before speaking again.

"I'm worried 'bout you is all. You hardly speak. You barely eat. Shucks… have you seen yourself lately? You look like hell. And the fellas? They see it. They ain't sayin', but they see it."

Sniper stayed silent, wishing more than anything for a stronger beer, one that could black out the world for a while instead of the stuff he had now which was far too weak to get properly drunk.

"Dammit, Slim, talk to me! I know that boy pisses you off on the best of days, but to beat him half to death-"

"You shut yer mouth about that," Sniper spat, fangs bared. "You don't know a thing. You 'ave no idea. Not one of you. 'Specially not some smart-arse city kid who never had to fear for a thing in his life."

"The _tell_ me," pleaded Engie. "Tell me so I know."

"Nah," said Sniper, turning away. "Nah, I think we're done here, mate."

"I know personal demons when I see 'em, Slim," called Engie as Sniper walked away. "And I see 'em now."

Sniper paused for a moment.

What happened next took but a fraction of a second, just enough time for Sniper to realize what was happening and just enough time to realize there was nothing he could do to stop it. The floor had groaned under his weight and there was a sound like a tiny thread had snapped. He felt the wood give an inch… and then give way altogether. There were glimpses of ground and evening sky, then suddenly something struck and a pain unlike anything he'd ever felt before tore through his body and a miserable noise unraveled from his throat.

Somewhere, someone was screaming.

And then... Medic was standing over him.

_No_, he thought as the world went quiet and darkness closed in. _That couldn't be right. Medic was back at base. _

_Wasn't he?_


End file.
